


The Mrs.

by YIMA



Series: Steady and Petunia [5]
Category: HILLARY CLINTON - Fandom, Nancy Pelosi - Fandom, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, F/F, Femslash, Love Between Women, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIMA/pseuds/YIMA
Summary: Nancy asked the question.





	The Mrs.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Among the Redwoods](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318215) by [YIMA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIMA/pseuds/YIMA). 

_May 29, 2013_

They sat across from each other, eating dinner on the patio. Their time at Westgate had been lovely—a whole week to themselves where they could shut out the world and love each other freely. Nancy was content with her ice cream while Hillary happily ate a salad with a side of cantaloupe. It was weird, Nancy thought, how she’d find herself overwhelmed whenever she’d look at Hillary. It was similar to how she felt about Paul in the beginning, but more intense, going to her core and branching out to her limbs. It made her feel weak. Fragile. Sometimes, it felt unbearable, like in that very moment as they sat under the stars.

“Is it good?” Hillary asked, oblivious to her lover’s thoughts.

Nancy nodded, staring at her bowl. She wanted to marry her even though they were already married to other people. But why couldn’t she make Hillary her wife? Why were the rules so unbendable? “How is your cantaloupe?”

“Delicious,” Hillary said, sneezing right after. She wiped her nose with the cloth while Nancy stared at her in awe. Even her sneezes were magical. “Are you okay, Petunia?”

She didn’t say anything, because she wanted to say everything that wasn’t allowed to be said.

“Brain freeze?” Hillary joked.

“A little.”

“You have to go _slower_,” Hillary said, resting her hand on top of the woman’s. “I know it’s good, but it has to be savored.”

“Will you marry me?” Nancy blurted out, setting all considerations to the side and having no regrets. She had always been blunt and didn’t see a reason to stop then.

“What?” Hillary whispered.

Nancy wanted to make it official, so she stood up and got down on one knee, one hand holding Hillary’s and the other on the woman’s thigh. “Hillary Diane Rodham,” she said, purposely leaving off ‘Clinton’, “Will you marry me?”

Hillary closed her eyes to block the deluge of tears pining to race out of her and onto the ground before penetrating the concrete and seeping into the soil and growing the most beautiful flowers. Each tear was pure love, transcending language and thought and logic, sweet logic.

“I love you,” Nancy continued, knowing how hard it was for Hillary to answer the question. “And I’ll never stop.” 

“Honey…” She swallowed, mind racing, heart bursting. “We’re already—”

“But why can’t we?” Nancy whispered, teary. “What can’t you be my wife?”

Lips pressed together, Hillary closed her eyes.

“I promise to love you and to take care of you and to never, ever hurt you,” Nancy said, the makeshift vows flowing out of her. “Don’t you believe that, Steady?”

She believed it like she believed in love and doing good and equality and kindness. It wasn’t about belief for her. She knew Nancy was her soulmate. It wasn’t even a question, just a matter of letting her heart speak before her mind. “I do,” Hillary finally said.

Nancy closed her eyes, both hands holding Hillary’s. “Make me a promise,” she said.

Hillary took a breath, amazed that dinner had become a wedding ceremony. She couldn’t promise to give her the world or slay dragons or stop sneezing at meals. But she could promise to give Nancy her heart, her most precious possession. “Petunia, I promise to love you and to care for you and to always provide a warm place for you to rest.” She looked to the side, the agents in the distance looking afar off. They had no idea that they were witnesses. She inhaled, flushed, headband on, contacts in. “…if you’ll have me,” she stammered.

Nancy chuckled, tears streaming down her face. “I will.”

Hillary chuckled too. “Will you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Gosh,” Hillary said, feeling more married than she had in the past 38 years. She couldn’t explain it. After rejecting Bill three times, she accepted Nancy’s proposal after the first. She didn’t want to think too deep about it. The relationships weren’t comparable, and she preferred to keep them separate.

“My darling,” Nancy said, reaching up and kissing Hillary tenderly. It was the most precious kiss, making everything around them go silent. They were in a vacuum, lips to lips, hand in hand as Hillary lay on her back, never having thought this kind of contact could feel so good. But it did, Nancy above her with breasts bouncing, their hips moving in circles, their tender parts locked in a kiss for the ages. It was their wedding night after all, and Nancy really was taking her virginity. They came in unison, squeezing each other’s hands, the sound coming back, the air coming back, the reality coming back right there under the A-lined ceiling and above the wrinkled, sweaty sheets that held the secret.

It was later that night—the wee hours of the next morning, really—when Hillary found Nancy in the kitchen, meticulously folding a piece of aluminum foil. The Representative was wearing her glasses, a rare sight, and Hillary knew from the look that Nancy was serious.

“Petunia?”

“Steady,” she said, quickly putting the foil behind her back.

“Why’re you up?” she asked, yawning as she walked towards her.

Nancy smiled, caught.

“Can’t sleep?” She rested her hand to Nancy’s head, the warmth spreading across her palm.

“I wanted to—” Nancy said. “I’m trying to make—” Giving up, she lifted the piece of foil. “I didn’t give you a ring, and my jeweler is on vacation,” she said, nearly rambling. “I didn’t want you to go home without a—” She smiled, embarrassed. “I’ll get you a real one, Steady; I promise.”

Touched by the effort, Hillary took a staggered breath. The ring was beautiful, the ridges of the band shaped like Nancy’s nails. The metal had been smoothed out, no nicks to cut her skin. Nancy even crafted a center stone, and from a distance, the piece looked real. “I love it,” she whispered.

Nancy exhaled, relieved. “Really?”

“Really,” Hillary said, extending her hand.

Careful and joyful, Nancy put the ring on Hillary’s finger, thankful that it fit her perfectly. “Well, it’s official,” she said.

Hillary sniffed, overwhelmed. “Official?”

“You are officially ‘The Mrs’.”

Hillary chuckled, heart fluttering. “So are you, Petunia.”

“Oh?”

Hillary nodded, wondering how quickly she could get Nancy a ring too. “The Mrs,” she repeated, the words tasting good on her tongue.


End file.
